


First Years

by deanau



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: bc i am self-indulgent and have started re-reading the hp books again, i guess it's pre-slash? i suppose, in their first year at hogwarts, tiny cuties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanau/pseuds/deanau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard and Vince in their first year at Hogwarts. In other words, a massively unimaginative AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Years

"I'm going to be in Ravenclaw," Howard Moon announced proudly. It was the evening of his eleventh birthday; and, as he pressed himself further down into the ground, eyes tracing the path of a passing cloud as it meandered along above his head, he was, if nothing else, sure of this fact.

He was lying on the dew-damp grass of his parent's small back garden, clutching a neatly re-folded letter to his chest in both hands. His fingers trembled with the force of his clasp; excitement flooded through him as he turned to his best friend, Vince, who lay beside him.

"Me too," nodded Vince, beaming. Howard, however, quickly shook his head.

"Oh, no, Vince. I think you're more of a Hufflepuff."

"A Hufflepuff?" Vince puffed his chest out, affronted. "I'd be at least a Gryffindor. Yeah, I'd like that, actually. Vince Noir: Gryffindor Tsar."

"Tsar? I'm glad you've been listening to my words of wisdom, Vince. Never before would you have pulled something like that out of the bag, no sir."

"Shut up, small eyes," he retorted, though there was a familiar fondness in his intonation that hinted at the underlying laughter in his tone.

For a few beats, there was a comfortable silence. Then:

"Do you think I'll get my letter, Howard?"

"Of course. Both of your parents were pureblood - there's no way you're not a wizard. Only my dad is a wizard, and I was, too, so you should be fine."

"I didn't mean that. I can already talk to animals - I know I'm magical. I just wondered, well..."

"Well?"

"What if they don't want me?" As he spoke, his voice became smaller; he shrunk in on himself, flopping onto his back and away from Howard, who had turned on his side to face Vince as he spoke.

"They will, little man," he said, voice clear and reassuring. Vince shifted so that Howard could just see the tip of his nose, and the point of his chin, from under his wedge of blonde hair. "Even if they don't, I can sneak you in - you're tiny. You can come in under the guise of my owl."

"Could I glitter up my feathers?" Vince asked, face serious. Howard, with an equally straight expression, nodded.

"Genius," he crowed. Within seconds, a broad smile lit up his angular features. "Thanks, Howard."

"Not a problem. Now - do you want some cake? I reckon mum would let you have more, anyway. I think she likes you more than me," he grumbled.

"Probably," Vince agreed. "I am cute, and charming. You're all bookish and quiet. It's no wonder, really."

Howard huffed out a breath through his nose, but chose to make no verbal retort.

"It's my birthday in a few days," Vince continued. Whilst Howard was more than happy to enjoy a contented, relaxed period of silence, Vince always wanted to fill the emptiness with inane chatter.

"Seventeen days, I know." Howard smiled, relenting. His enthusiasm was hard to resist.

"Did you enjoy your birthday today?"

"Much more than last years. I'm glad it was just the two of us."

"That jelly and ice cream we had was wicked, too. It's a shame we didn't get a bouncy castle again, though." Vince pouted.

"I really don't - I wouldn't worry about that. We almost did for my tenth birthday, yeah? That's close enough."

"And you didn't get your head kicked in by an army of woollen, holey-toed socks today. Definitely a success, really."

"I would have to agree with you there. C'mon," Howard said as he stood, brushing stray blades of damp grass from his back with his free hand, whilst the other kept a firm hold on his acceptance letter. When he was done, he offered the empty hand to Vince; instead of it being used to help him up, however, Vince used his leverage to pull Howard back down. Hugging him to his waif-like body tightly, he grinned, whispered a "Happy birthday, Howard," in his ear, before leaping up again, leaving Howard on the ground.

"Hurry up then, mocha-mouth," he taunted, before fleeing into the house, with Howard close behind.

 

::::

 

Vince had never seen Howard's tiny eyes stretch so wide.

Having sped ahead, he had the privilege of watching the expressions of both his guardians and Howard's parents flick through almost an entire emotional range, before settling on awe. They had come through the back of the Leaky Cauldron only moments before - yet already Howard was pressed tightly to his mother's side, gripping onto her hand and stumbling as he forgot to look where he was going, for the buildings surrounding them were of far more interest than safe footwork. The pathway was lined with cobbles, which lead off in multiple directions to a number of different shops: each of which had been built up in a strange, lopsided fashion, so that they curved around corners and inclined in an almost dangerous manner. A sign, shaped and coloured like a cauldron, creaked in the light breeze; the air was full of friendly chatter, and the tinkling of bells as eager customers bustled through shop doors.

"Right then," Vince's father announced, clapping his hands as if to punctuate his unfinished statement. Unseen by anyone but Howard, who had made a mostly successful attempt to catch up with his spritely friend, Vince flinched at the sudden sound. He pulled a large smile back onto his face as he unwittingly caught Howard's eye.

"Yes, right," Howard's father bumbled, fiddling clumsily with a map. "Where shall we start?"

Howard, mirroring his father's mannerisms seemingly unknowingly, began to unfold his supply list. "Flourish and Blotts?" He offered, consulting the list. "We may as well start with the books - look, it's just on our right."

"Ugh, Howard," Vince groaned. "That's so boring. I want to get my wand!"

"Come on, let's get it over with, yeah? Why don't we get our books and uniforms, then we can go get our wands."

"And your pet, Vince," his mother smiled. "Howard's right - we'll get the boring shopping done, then we'll finish with something a little more exciting."

"Okay," he agreed, grabbing Howard's arm and towing him towards the shop. Howard held out his other arm, still examining his supply list, before heading straight for a large, leather-bound black book.

" _Magical Theory_ , Vince. It's very important to know what makes your spells tick." His father looked up from where he'd caught the bottom of his robes on the edge of the door, nodding sagely at his son's words. Vince, however, was far more interested in a pile of smaller, red books:

" _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_! This is way more like it. Look, there's even a unicorn on the cover."

"What was it you boys needed again?" Vince's mother was holding up a copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , and staring at it somewhat bemusedly.

Howard cleared his throat - more than a little theatrically - before reading aloud: " _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_ ; _A History of Magic_ ; _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ ; _Magical Drafts and Potions_ ; _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ , this-" he paused, held up his book, before using it to gesture at the one Vince held, "that one, and the one you've got."

"That seems an awful lot," Howard's mother piped up from where she was helping her husband untangle himself.

"I did warn you," he chided gently.

"I know you did, Geoffrey."

"How are we to pay for this?" Vince's mum interjected, swiftly leaning down and freeing Howard's father. "Do they take American Express in here?"

"Bugger," stuttered Howard's dad. "I forgot to tell you about Gringotts. Put those down, Howard, we'd better go and exchange your muggle money."

"Muggle money?" Asked Vince's father as they left, smiling wanly and apologetically at the old wizard jerking in and out of a doze behind the counter.

"Non-magic. In the Wizarding World, we use different money: Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. In the same way that there are one hundred pennies to a pound, there are seventeen Sickles to a Galleon, and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. You get used to it," he shrugged.

Their trip to Gringotts was brief; and, though he was loathe to admit it, Howard was terrified of the goblins peering down, with their long fingers and uninterested stares. Though Vince had mocked him as they'd waited, he'd also pressed a comforting hand to his shoulder, leaning forwards onto his toes to do so. And, though he was loathe to admit it, Howard had found it soothing.

After returning to Flourish and Blotts to purchase the previously abandoned books, Vince embarked on a solitary quest to find the perfect cloak whilst the others set about buying the standard uniform. When Howard told Vince, rather sternly, that the list stated that they must all bring a sensible, black winter cloak, adorned only with silver buckles, Vince retorted, rather sternly, that he would buy both.

"Some wizards wear purple and green when in London, to let others know that they're magical," Howard's father told Vince solemnly, though there was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke.

"Ew," Vince laughed. "That's a hideous combination."

"You know what's not a hideous combination?" Madame Malkin asked, approaching with a grin at Vince's enthusiasm. "All of these robes - and, yes, that fine cloak - are self-ironing and self-repairing."

"Genius," beamed Vince. Once they'd procured their uniforms, and Vince's admittedly outlandish winter cloak, they set about the rather more exciting business of attaining wands. As they reached Ollivanders, Howard's father started to explain, with increasingly wild hand gestures, all he knew about wands. (Which, to be fair, wasn't an awful lot.)

"I got my wand from here, you know. Ollivanders have been making wands since 382 B.C.," he proclaimed, waving a hand with flared fingers at the sign above the door, which read:

_Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._

At this, Vince stifled a snort, and Howard rolled his eyes.

"The last Ollivander remembered every wand he'd ever sold. Of course, this new one might not..." he trailed off, before shaking himself and pushing open the door.

Howard inhaled deeply: for the scent of books and old parchment permeated the air, as well as an underlying, wooden perfume. Vince, on the other hand, was entranced by the stacks of wand cases lining every wall he could see.

A young woman with untamed, flyaway white hair and pale blue eyes stepped forward from behind a pile of books on the counter, extending a hand towards the cluster of adults as she did so. In turn, they all shook it; she introduced herself as Ollivander, and smiled patiently as they replied with their names.

Vince was shaking with anticipation by the time he was acknowledged. He smiled toothily, and stuck his hand out for her to shake. She crouched down as he reached up; then she slid backwards with ease, and felt about a shelf at chest-height, running the tips of her fingers over the rows of cases, before making a small exclamation of "Ah!" and grabbing at a box.

"Try this," she encouraged, opening the case. Eyes wide with trepidation, Vince carefully removed the wand, before pointing it at the stack of books on the counter. The pile floated into the air, one by one, forming a circle before coming to rest in a wobbly pile once more.

"Knew it!" Ollivander declared, her large front teeth poking out from under her top lip as she grinned. "Apple - wands of this wood are rarely made, mind - and surprisingly flexible, fourteen inches, a core of dragon heart string. A bold wand, Mr. Noir," she winked.

"Now..." She turned to Howard, smiled softly, and then returned to the shelves; but this time, she hunted amongst those that lay further back. "Perhaps Hawthorn?"

Howard took the wand, eyes darting about as he raised it. With a gentle swish, he sent Vince stumbling backwards into a haphazard pile of wands, thus scattering them across the floor. He sent Howard a dirty look as he picked them up.

"No, no," Ollivander chanted to herself, as she retrieved the wand from Howard. Returning it, her eyes wandered even further back. "Willow?" She asked herself, nodded, and slid it out from the pile. "Give this one a wave," she offered, holding it out, and Howard took it with an even greater sense of fear than he had the last one.

He held it as far from his body as possible, and moved it minutely. This time, however, he made Vince's hair wave gently in the air, as though held there by an invisible breeze. Vince laughed, but then remembered himself, and bemoaned the fact that Howard was ruining his carefully windswept style.

"There you are, Mr. Moon. Willow, ten inches and a quarter, unicorn core, fairly rigid."

As they made their way out of the shop, Howard and Vince bickered light-heartedly over who had been chosen by the better wand. Howard was halted in his agitated flow of "The spells my wand will cast will be coming at you like a beam, like a ray-" as Vince ran off, and pressed his fingertips and nose up to the glass of a shop selling animals.

To say that the Magical Menagerie was well-stocked would be a dreadful understatement; as such, it is important to express the extent to which it was packed with a myriad of unusual creatures. The singular room was teeming with cages, all of which were balanced either on the floor, the counter, or one another. There were shelves, placed apparently at random, which lay at unusual angles and threatened to send their contents - bottles of tonic, lotions and potions - sliding uneasily onto the fragmented areas of floor space.

An owl hooted benignly from above, which sent Howard skittering forwards into Vince. "Bop it on the nose, bop it on the nose," he murmured repeatedly under his breath. Vince shook his head.

"You batty crease, it's just an owl. She's only saying hello. Isn't that sharks, anyway?"

"It works for all animals, Vince." Vince had heard this multiple times during the duration of their friendship; instead of listening to Howard's bluffing once more, he slipped through one of the small gaps between cages, and began to converse with a range of animals. His guardians were unused to such behaviour, and stood by, somewhat aghast, as he gesticulated wildly and laughed in response to the guttural, animalistic noises.

Howard, however, seemed intrigued by the owl that had, according to Vince, said hello to them as they'd entered. Ever one to latch on to any attention he could claim, he pointed out the small, fluffy owl to his parents; whilst they were more than a little bemused by their son's choice of pet, they were more than happy to buy him something so practical.

"You can send us letters then, aye, love?"

"Of course, Mum," he smiled.

"Have you found one you like yet, Vince?" Mrs. Moon asked, turning to Vince, who was sat, legs splayed, by the cage of a Bengal cat.

"This one. He reminds me of Jahooli the Leopard." He sighed wistfully, before turning back to the cat, smiling broadly - and rather toothily - as it mewed endearingly at him. Pulling his legs up and under him as he leant closer, he whispered, "You're alright with coming home with me, yeah?" It was apparent that the cat replied in an affirmative manner, as seconds later Vince was tugging the cage free and clutching it to his chest.

As the remainder of the pile wobbled in a somewhat disconcerting fashion, Vince's mother turned to his father and muttered, "Should we let the RSPCA know about this shop?"

 

::::

 

Vince shifted from foot to foot, before bouncing up onto the balls of his feet, as he peered around the station for Howard. He didn't want to admit it, but he was more than a little scared to pass through the barrier to platform nine-and-three-quarters alone.

His guardians had had to leave him ten minutes prior, as they hadn't wanted to be late for work. He'd been left with a kiss on the forehead from his mother, the solid clasp of his father's hand on his shoulder, and a hug from them both before they'd slipped off into the writhing swarm of bodies bustling about the trains.

His hands wrapped around the handle of his trolley, before he slowly peeled them off again. He had repeated this pattern four or five times prior to finally hearing an excited, and most definitely Northern, cry of "Vince!"

Howard, for his part, was not expecting the small blur of blonde hair and bright clothing that bundled itself into his arms. "Howard!" Vince exclaimed, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he smiled.

As Howard set about disentangling himself from the embrace, his mother stepped forward and retrieved the trolley that Vince had abandoned. By the time she had returned, Howard had managed to rid himself of his friend, and was fiddling with a loose thread on his jumper; Vince, on the other hand, was beaming and trying to make eye contact with the tiny owl Howard had bought as a pet.

"Boys!" Mrs. Moon chided. Vince had never learnt her first name - if anything, he liked to imagine that her name was, in fact, just 'Missus', despite the fact that she'd fondly told him, on a number of occasions, to call her by her first name, or even to call her 'Mum'.

"You'd better hurry, loves - you don't want to miss the train."

"Mum's right," Howard whispered to Vince.

"Let's go, then," Vince whispered back.

"Come on," Howard's father whispered, crouching down, so as to be around the same height as them. Mrs. Moon clucked her tongue at him, and set about steering Vince's trolley towards the barrier. Mr. Moon stood upright, and grabbed Howard's, before ushering the two towards the ominous brick wall.

As they approached the barrier, Howard didn't even protest when Vince grabbed his hand.

 

::::

 

Vince positioned himself slightly behind Howard as they stepped into the small cabin. A boy, who could not have been any taller than four and a half feet heigh, was the single occupant within.

"Alright?" Vince asked, nodding at him. When the boy showed no signs of responding, his eyebrows drew together. "You in some sorta trance, mate? 'Cause that is well cool." He tried a small smile, to show that he meant no harm. At this, the boy pulled a headphone from his left ear.

"No, I'm listening to Fleetwood Mac."

"Ah. Tusk?"

"Rumours. You comin' in or what?" Howard shuffled in slightly further, awkwardly fumbling as he sat down on the seat furthest from the boy. For his part, Vince clambered in and leant forward, attempting to engage the others in conversation.

"What's your name, then?"

"I'm Naboo, that's who."

"I'm Vince." When Howard said nothing, he nudged him indignantly. "An' that's Howard."

"Right," said Naboo, leaning back in his seat. His eyes drooped, falling back into their half-closed position. Howard decided that this meant he need not continue to maintain any semblance of involvement in the conversation; thus, he turned in his seat, and watched the scenery fly rapidly past the window. There was silence: and, whilst it may have lasted a mere minute in Howard's mind, in reality it was closer to half an hour. It was broken by Vince's jittery tugging on his sleeve as he saw the sweet trolley approach.

"Howard? Howard. Howard!"

"This'd better be good."

Naboo peeled one eye open fully, shrugged, and then slumped back into his self-imposed stupor.

"She's coming. Oh my God. Look!"

"I am looking. It's a lady with a trolley. What-"

"She has _sweets_ , Howard. _Sweets_."

"Oh, I see now. Howard Moon gets ya."

"I'm sure you do, shrimp eyes, but let's get back to the matter at hand. D'you reckon she'll stop here?"

"Not if you keep staring at her like that. Little bit creepy, Vince."

Despite the fact that Vince kept his eyes fixed steadfastly on the little old lady, she did, indeed, stop at their cabin. Naboo, waking suddenly, purchased a small pile of food; Howard, a single lollipop (which he was quite certain that Vince would eat, rather than himself, regardless); whilst Vince considered every possible choice, before settling on the majority of the contents of the cart. He thanked her heartily as he rammed a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans into his mouth; as she turned to leave, his eyes bulged, and he swallowed hastily.

By the end of the train journey, he felt positively sick, and Howard sighed exhaustedly as he scooped up the wrappers and deposited them in a sensible refuse area. ("It's a bin, Howard," Vince had exclaimed wearily as he'd been marched over to it.)

Both of them perked up at the prospect of the boat ride, however. The moment that Vince saw the castle looming up above the lake, he grabbed at Howard's arm and towed him towards the edge of the water. As soon as their toes scrabbled for purchase on the slippery rock, Hagrid - as he later introduced himself - hauled them back by the shoulders, one of them in each large hand. He tutted fondly, and pointed them towards a boat as he steered them away from the cavernous body of water. Howard seemed terrified, as Hagrid was as tall as two men, and as wide as four. Vince immediately chose to imagine that he was actually two men, one stood on the other's shoulders, with them concealed in an oversized coat. This theory seemed to lessen Howard's fear somewhat, and they both made it across the lake with little difficulty.

"It's beautiful," Vince had mumbled about halfway across, his voice quietened by awe. And so it was: the water and sky merged into one, black into black, lit above by stars, and below by candlelight. The waves parted seamlessly for the old, wooden boats, as they trundled steadily along the otherwise unmarred surface. Howard, made brave by the poetic images surrounding him, dipped a hand into the water, watching as it lightened in colour as it passed over his pale fingers. The clouds had parted, turning the sky navy where it had before been inpenetratable by colour or moonlight. Vince pictured a sheet of paper, painted black, with a large hand splashing watercolour across its surface. His eyes followed the imagined pathway of the paint, dripping slowly down the page, until they fell upon the rocky outcrop that the castle lay upon. Even in the shadowed light, it was impressive.

They were transfixed; and, as of yet, they had not even begun to consider the wonders that lay within.


End file.
